Make You Feel Brand New
by Apollo888
Summary: Falling in love is easy. You have to work if you want to keep it, particularly if you're dealing with baggage from the past. A modern AU journey with Mary and Matthew in New York City. Part of the Live in My Memory series, the sequel to Epiphany, followed by Doing What's Expected.


**Home of Matthew Crawley, NoLIta, Manhattan, New York City, USA, March 2015**

"Go on in, darling," Matthew says to Mary, handing her his keys. "I'll get the bags."

Mary nods and turns towards the four-storey brick building standing before her. She runs her hand along the wrought iron railing and takes the three steps up to the door. She can hear Matthew behind her removing their luggage from the cab, and she unlocks the door and steps inside.

The old building is separated into four apartments, each one occupying a different floor. Mary walks up the staircase to Matthew's home on the top storey. As she reaches the landing and his front door, she wonders about what a hassle it must be to carry his bike up and down these stairs. She then thinks that perhaps she should go back down and help him with their bags. Ultimately, her curiosity about Matthew's apartment wins out over her fleeting thought to assist him, and deciding that she would only get in his way, she turns a second key in the lock and goes inside his place.

It takes her a moment to find the light switches on the wall. She flicks them on and blinks as overhead pot lights unveil the room to her.

The main living area is one large open space, a combination of kitchen, dining room and living room all in one. Mary takes several steps forward, noticing the stainless steel appliances and black granite countertops in the kitchen, the natural wood floor throughout and exposed brick on the walls and exposed pipes running along the ceiling. It's an interesting mix of old, modern and industrial touches and Mary finds the home is drawing her in, much like the neighbourhood itself. It's dark out and all the boutiques and shops are closed, but the narrow streets and old architecture of the buildings tell her there's much to discover in this small enclave in the middle of immense Manhattan.

She wanders in deeper and notices the floor and walls are remarkably bare. There are no photographs or paintings, no framed posters or wall hangings, no rugs or carpets. Her attention moves to the furniture, and she notes they're all generic and mundane, as though Matthew just grabbed whatever he saw in a catalogue or store window. The couch looks comfortable enough, as does the leather recliner, and the requisite big screen television is mounted on the wall, but there's just no personality to these pieces. The only noteworthy objects are the tall wooden bookcases along one wall, each shelf filled to bursting, the massive windows, and the sleek bicycle standing to one side of the television. The rear wheel is fixed to some sort of contraption that Mary's seen in her spin class from time to time. She walks over and stands next to the bike. The device appears to keep the bike stationary, so that Matthew can ride indoors when the weather outside is too cold. She glances up from the bike at the television and she pictures him spending many lonely hours watching football matches on the big screen while pedalling away. She frowns at the thought.

She turns and goes back towards the kitchen, spinning around slowly and looking at the place once more. It's presumptuous and even arrogant of her to think what she is thinking, but she can't help it. Matthew wasn't joking about how simple his home was, it turns out. His apartment doesn't feel like a real home at all, and Mary cannot stop herself from wondering if his lack of effort in decorating his apartment, his refusal to make it truly his, is because she hasn't been here to share it with him for all these years.

She looks up at the sound of his footsteps approaching. She places her hands on the cool granite of the kitchen island and watches the open door expectantly. Being back in New York reminds her of all the questions she still has for him, all the loose thoughts and ideas floating in her head about their time here over ten years ago. She promised him that this trip wasn't about reliving the past, but even though she's never lived in this apartment, she feels her lost past is all around her. It followed her from the moment she got off the plane. As they went into the city and the buildings of Manhattan towered above their cab, she wondered if it felt the same way ten years ago, though Matthew told her they had to take a bus back then. She's filled with a strange desire to know the places they went to, the things they did, the people they knew. And yet she's nervous and apprehensive as well. She doesn't know what is to be gained from this knowledge. She is convinced it won't bring back her memories. But her questions are out there nonetheless, gnawing at her, and she's having great difficulty ignoring them.

"There you are," she smiles as he comes into the apartment and places their suitcases on the floor. "I was considering sending out a search party."

"Not an altogether foolish idea, given that we are in New York," Matthew smiles, closing the door behind him, then moving towards her. "I could have been mugged by some thief in the night."

"Perish the thought," she smiles as he embraces her. She normally isn't one for overt displays of affection, but she's found over the past month that they've been together that she rather likes being in his arms. Her own hands move around his waist, holding him close. "Whatever would I do here on my own?"

"Oh, I'm sure you would manage," Matthew smiles. "A Manhattan apartment all to yourself and no one to get in your way? It sounds like a dream, doesn't it?"

"You're not in my way," Mary says, leaning up and kissing him quickly.

"Glad to hear it," Matthew smiles. He untangles from her and walks over to the fridge. "Are you hungry?"

"No," Mary replies, watching as he takes a bottle of water from the fridge and fetches two glasses from the cupboard. "I'm still full from all the food we had on the plane. It was a veritable feast."

"That's First Class for you," Matthew laughs. "For the money they charge for the tickets, I suppose they think that the least they can do is give us a proper feeding."

Mary nods in agreement. "Besides, it's too late to eat."

"Not for me," Matthew jokes, sliding a glass of water to her. "The benefit of living here is there are numerous restaurants and cafés open late, some even all night."

"Do you want to go grab something then?" Mary asks, sipping her water.

"No, I'm all right," Matthew nods. "We really should get some sleep if we're to adjust to New York time."

"I don't get a tour of your bachelor sanctuary first?" Mary teases.

"Forgive me, my Lady," Matthew bows respectfully. He holds out his hand to her and grins. "Come along. Now that you mention it, there is something I do want to show you."

She takes his hand and follows him as he leads her down a hallway, past what she thinks is his bedroom, a guest room, a bathroom and an office before reaching a closed door. He turns back and smiles at her before opening the door and pulling her up a short staircase.

It's several degrees below freezing outside now, but Mary isn't cold as she steps out on to the roof of the building. She stares in awe as the rooftops seem to stretch for miles into the distance. They aren't nearly as high up as his hotel room at the Shangri-la in London, but the lights of Manhattan are spread out in a tapestry before her, as though she's watching life unfold from on high.

"It's beautiful up here," she whispers as her gaze turns to the night sky above. "You must have impressed many women with this view."

"I've had friends over for dinners and such, but never any dates," Matthew shrugs, looking up as well.

Mary blinks and glances over at him curiously.

"Look over this way," he suggests. He places his hands on her shoulders and gently turns her around.

Mary gasps.

She realizes that she must have been facing south before, and not north. Reoriented by Matthew, she now sees the skyscrapers and distinctive buildings of Midtown Manhattan in the distance, the intensity of the bright lights rather shocking.

"It's like London in a way," Matthew says, watching as she looks up at the haze above the city. "Too many lights and buildings to really see the stars properly. There are some clear nights every once in a while, though, but there's far better stargazing out in the country."

Mary remains quiet, looking up at the Heavens above. When she met Matthew over ten years ago, she had already lost her family and her childhood home at Downton Abbey along with them. But she still remembers the many nights in Yorkshire where she would gaze up at the stars, so bright against the black sky, so many that it seemed impossible to count them all.

"Do you come up here a lot?" Mary asks finally, turning towards him. "When you aren't entertaining?"

Matthew nods. "It's one of the perks of having the top floor apartment," he says. "I come up here and write when the weather is nice, sometimes I'll cook on the barbecue if I feel up to it. Other times I'll have a kip if it's warm enough. It's quite nice to have a quiet space like this."

"Mmm," Mary agrees. She glances around and notices two lounge chairs and a simple glass table by the stainless steel barbecue, as well as numerous potted plants and flower baskets that have been ravaged by winter. The space is functional, even if Matthew is only using a small square of the total rooftop.

"Did you draw inspiration for your book from being up here, then?" Mary asks, walking over and sitting down on one of the chairs, hugging her down jacket around her.

"Parts of it," Matthew nods. He walks over and joins her, placing his arm around her shoulders. She snuggles against him and keeps looking up. Any lights she sees are more likely to be from passing aircraft than from stars, but she's in awe of the vast panorama above them just the same.

"It must make you feel rather small, looking up at all this," she muses.

"It does," Matthew nods. "It helps me keep things in perspective."

"Delving into your existential side, are you?" Mary jokes.

"No, nothing like that," Matthew chuckles, still looking up. "I wouldn't contemplate life or my hopes and dreams or anything. I'd mainly just look up at the stars and think about you."

Mary turns away from the sky and frowns at him.

"What?" she asks in surprise.

Matthew blinks, his eyes going wide, as though he suddenly realizes that he said his last thought out loud.

"I know it sounds ridiculous," he smiles wryly and shakes his head. "But every so often when I would be up here, I would look up and imagine that you were looking up at the same sky back in London, and for that moment, we were doing the same thing."

Mary watches his sheepish expression. He does sound ridiculous. And cheesy. And naïve. And hopelessly romantic. He's not the first man to gush over her. Evelyn would shyly pay her compliments and Tony was always waxing poetic to her about their future together, but it's different with Matthew. It's different because she knows, by the mere fact that she followed him to New York ten years ago, that she felt something for him entirely different to all the men she's been with before or since, and she feels differently about him now. She doesn't feel her usual instinct to laugh or roll her eyes or snort derisively in response to his platitudes. There's a part of her that's intrigued; thinking about what he used to say to her and how she used to react. Truly, she still hasn't come to terms over how he could apparently be so devoted to her for so long. What did they do years ago that led him to seek her out after so many years? What were they to each other? If she knew another couple with their same history, she would have called the woman a fool for running off to New York for a man, and the man a supreme idiot for never truly moving on after the woman left. But she doesn't think that. She thinks she wants to know more, to know how they came to be.

"Well, I'm here now," Mary smiles, looking at him confidently, setting aside her questions for now. "And this is very nice, isn't it?"

"As nice as nice can be," Matthew grins.

She leans towards him, her hand coming up to touch his cheek. Her lips meet his and they kiss softly. His arms come around her, pulling her close, and she makes him murmur in delight as she slides her tongue against his.

* * *

Mary opens her eyes slowly. She can see light filtering in from the edges of the drapes covering Matthew's bedroom windows. The rest of his bedroom comes into focus in the dim light. She moves her head from the pillow and smiles at his arm lying across her. She lifts it carefully so that she can move away from him without waking him up. She sits up, shifting her legs over the side of the bed. She stretches her arms above her head, arching her back, the t-shirt that she stole from his closet last night feels soft against her skin. It smells like him too.

She gets up out of bed and walks towards the bathroom. A quick glance at Matthew reveals he's still asleep, and she smiles at the sight of him for a moment before leaving the bedroom.

It takes a while for the cold water to turn hot. Finally when the water temperature suits her, the shower feels heavenly and she spends a few minutes just standing underneath the waterfall, drenching herself as the tension in her muscles ease. Her legs are still a bit sore, partly from the flight over, and partly from making love to Matthew after they came down from the rooftop last night. She finally grabs her body wash, staring at the tiled wall as her thoughts wander to what she's going to do with her first full day in New York.

"You know, you never used to wake up before me," Matthew says, coming up behind her and hugging her.

"I believe that," Mary smiles, covering his hands with hers and leaning back against him. "I only became a morning person a few years ago. Anna would drag me to yoga early in the morning before work and eventually I got used to it."

He takes the bottle of body wash from her hands and squirts a rather liberal amount on his palm. Mary closes her eyes and smiles as he begins lathering it into her skin.

"Concentrate now," she teases as he spends an inordinate amount of time on her breasts and stomach. "The rest of me needs washing too."

"Oh, I very much intend to give you a right thorough cleansing," he smiles against her ear. "I'll need to wash as well, you know."

"Then the sooner you leave me alone and allow me to finish my shower, the sooner you can attend to yourself," Mary says lightly.

"How kind of you," he grunts, tickling her sides.

She laughs, slapping his hand playfully.

"What would you like to do today?" he asks, kissing her neck lightly.

"Well, I suppose you don't have any groceries since you haven't been here for months," Mary says.

"You suppose right," Matthew nods, running his hands up and down her back in a token cleaning. "I can go grab a few things while you unpack the rest of your clothes. What about after breakfast?"

"Oh, I don't know," Mary says, staring at the wall. "It's been so long since I was last here. Perhaps we can go up to Midtown, walk along Fifth Avenue, go over to Central Park? I know it's cold out but maybe we could see some sights?"

"Whatever you want, darling," Matthew replies, kissing her shoulder. "We're in luck actually as there's a bit of a warm spell passing through this week. I actually haven't done the tourist thing for quite some time so it'll be new for both of us."

Mary turns in his arms and faces him. She takes the bottle of body wash from his hand and arches her eyebrow at him mischievously.

Matthew swallows, his eyes darting down her naked body and back up to her dancing eyes and teasing smirk.

"Well then, let's get you clean so we can get on with our day," she says, before soaping up her hands and moving them very deliberately down his body.

Matthew can only nod and hum in enthusiastic agreement as she goes about her task.

**Yakitori Totto, Midtown Manhattan, New York City, USA, March 2015**

It's been a lovely day. First, Matthew took Mary around his neighbourhood, indulging her shopping at lovely boutiques along Prince Street and Mulberry, pointing out small Italian eateries and even a quiet gallery on Elizabeth showcasing antiques and sculptures. Mary can see the appeal of living here, how it's a sort of separate world in the heart of the city. As they walk, she catches him glancing about and she can almost see his mind working away. She understands how he likes it here – being able to observe and draw ideas from just strolling around and watching life unfold.

Next, it's a noisy and crowded subway ride up to Midtown. They take the typical photo in front of the large billboards in Times Square. He shows her theatres along Broadway, escorts her through Grand Central Station, and holds her hand as they walk up Fifth Avenue. She looks at the large window displays of the big department stores and the smaller exclusive designer boutiques and tries to imagine what she felt like ten years ago when she was here and didn't have her family riches and had to survive on her wits. She can afford to buy anything she wants now without a second thought, but she feels like taking her time. There's something appealing about being here with no responsibilities and no appointments, free to wander and do what she pleases, with Matthew at her side.

Lunch is at a busy Japanese restaurant on the way to Central Park, filled with tourists and businessmen and Mary finds the food delicious and the atmosphere amusing. There's something rather fun about not working and not having to adhere to a schedule as she watches people run in and out, grabbing a quick bite on their lunch break. It feels as though she and Matthew are unfettered and free, with all the time in the world compared to the people around them counting the minutes before they must return to their offices and jobs. The restaurant is crowded and cramped in a distinctly New York fashion, and so they sit at the bar, elbow to elbow, as scrumptious dishes are thrown down in front of them and waiters, cooks and patrons yell at each other in English and Japanese as they scurry around.

"Try this: it's duck and spring onion. Have the two together at the same time," Matthew says, lifting the skewer to her mouth. She takes an awkward bite, and Matthew laughs and dabs at her lips with a napkin.

"That's quite good," she smiles, reaching over to grab another skewer, this one being grilled asparagus wrapped in bacon.

"Hold on there," Matthew frowns. "That was for me."

"So order another," Mary shrugs, smiling as she turns away and shields the precious treat from him as she eats.

Matthew rolls his eyes and begins waving for the server to come back.

"Some things never change," he mutters after ordering more skewers.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" she looks at him accusingly.

"Just that you used to nick my food off of me all the time whenever we went out," Matthew explains.

"I doubt that," Mary says suspiciously.

"It's true," Matthew shrugs. "You always spend forever looking over the menu, then when the dishes are served, you end up liking whatever I order better than your own, so you end up sampling both."

"Well it only makes sense to share, doesn't it?" she asks, raising her eyebrow at him.

"I learned rather early on that I didn't have a choice, regardless," Matthew laughs.

"Ah, so I taught you well, then," Mary smiles.

"I suppose you did, yes," Matthew nods, beaming at her.

She smiles back at him, then reaches over and grabs another skewer.

Matthew rolls his eyes.

"Well there's more coming, isn't there?" Mary asks innocently.

**Metropolitan Museum of Art, Midtown Manhattan, New York City, USA, March 2015**

When they leave the restaurant and return to the busy street, Matthew convinces her to walk through Central Park to the Met. It's about a half-hour jaunt, and with the sun shining and the snow banks melting, she goes along with the idea. Mary has plans to visit the Guggenheim and MOMA as well, but those can wait for later on during her stay. The Met is the required first stop. While the ground is still too wet for the usual crowds that come to Central Park during the day, the warm weather has brought out the usual assortment of joggers, armies of nannies pushing strollers, dog walkers and tourists. Mary holds on to Matthew's arm as they walk leisurely through the park.

She smiles when they reach the iconic steps of the Met. Something about the place makes her feel at ease. Perhaps it's because she goes to work at Tate Modern everyday and she's used to museums and galleries. Or, perhaps this is a slightly more sophisticated tourist destination than Times Square or Central Park and so it appeals more to her sensibilities. For whatever reason, as they climb the wide steps and head into the grand building, she's smiling in anticipation.

They tour the permanent collection and exhibitions at a leisurely pace. Matthew lets her set the pace, not saying much and giving her time to take it all in as they move from room to room. She has a far better appreciation for art after working at Tate Modern for the past few years, but that's not entirely the reason why she's not saying anything.

They must have come here together ten years ago, she thinks. She distinctly feels that they have. They both enjoy art, and visiting the Met is a rite of passage in New York. She hasn't really thought about their past for most of the day, but walking along Fifth Avenue and being here with him now feels as though they are retracing old steps.

They come to a display on fashion and Mary studies the different dresses and outfits from different eras. There's ball gowns from 19th century French court, designer dresses from the 20th century and even silk evening wear from the past decade. Mary finds the clothes beautiful. Did she think the same back in 2004? Did she examine each piece with a more discerning eye? Did visiting this same collection give her inspiration for her burgeoning career in fashion design that she never ended up pursuing after her memory loss? She doesn't dare ask Matthew. She's not entirely sure she wants to know the answers to her questions just yet.

"I like this one," Matthew says.

Mary turns and looks at the burgundy dress that he's standing before.

"1920's" she says, approaching it and taking in the sleeveless bodice, the layered skirt and the beadwork around the plunging neckline. "It's probably meant to be worn with long opera-style gloves. Women wore them as accessories back then, even indoors and during meals."

"I see," Matthew nods. "Do you think this was worn for a special occasion, or just a normal dinner?"

"Hard to say," Mary replies. "The fabric is a bit heavy, so it was probably worn in fall or winter. Perhaps for a holiday party? I can't see going to the trouble of putting it on just for dinner."

"Maybe it was for a ball of some sort? It's formal enough for dancing but not as cumbersome as some of those 19th century monstrosities over there."

"I couldn't tell you. Maybe," Mary says, smiling as she imagines a woman dancing the night away in some grand Estate home like Downton Abbey, wearing this very dress.

Matthew moves along to a 19th century men's dinner suit, leaving her to her musings.

Mary keeps staring at the burgundy dress. She can see what a modern version would look like – more sleek and form fitting and less layers. The lack of sleeves is a plus, as is the deep red colour. She frowns slightly at this train of thought that's come to her mind unbidden. Is she remembering something or are these just idle musings? Shaking her head, she turns and follows Matthew through to another gallery.

**Home of Matthew Crawley, NoLIta, Manhattan, New York City, USA, March 2015**

"Did you have an interest in cycling before we met?" Mary asks him, looking up from her magazine as she sits on the couch with her legs tucked underneath her.

Matthew stops slicing vegetables in the kitchen and glances over at her.

"No," he replies. "I had a small bike as a child growing up, but nothing like that one."

Mary's gaze moves to his bike, still attached to the stationary trainer near the television. "And what made you decide to take it up?" she asks.

Matthew keeps chopping vegetables. "To stay in shape, I suppose," he says, not looking at her.

"It just seems quite inconvenient," she says, putting her magazine back on the coffee table and rising from the couch. "Carrying your bike up and down all those stairs, to say nothing for how dangerous Manhattan roads are. It would have been safer for you to take up running for exercise, or to just join a gym."

She moves past him and places her empty glass in the sink.

"I did join a gym," Matthew smiles, setting the cut vegetables aside and proceeding to prepare the rice. "Cycling is different."

"And did I give you these same warnings back when you first delved into this hobby of yours?" she asks lightly, walking around the kitchen island and perching on a stool opposite him.

"No," he says after a slight pause. "I didn't actually have my bike back then."

Mary frowns in confusion.

Matthew sees she's waiting for a further explanation, so he reluctantly continues. "I got into the sport shortly after you…after you went back to London."

"I see," Mary nods. "And what moved you to do that?"

"I just…needed something to do," Matthew mumbles.

"It seems a rather involved and expensive hobby to take up just to pass the time," Mary states.

Matthew glances at her and shrugs his shoulders, then goes back to the rice.

"It's all right to talk about that time, you know," Mary says kindly. "I won't remember any of it, but I am curious. That is, if you want to."

"It's all right," Matthew replies. "It's just that…I spent a long time trying to forget some of it, I suppose."

His back is to her as he washes the rice in the sink. He shuts off the tap, then slowly turns around to face her.

Mary nods encouragingly.

"I spent the rest of the winter the year that you left at school mostly; classes, seminars, workshops, writing in the library. School and back to the apartment we used to live in. That was my day, every day. I wrote a lot. Writing was easy, it's always been easy. But it allowed me to think too much. I would sit on my couch, or in bed, or at a café that wasn't too loud, and as I wrote, no matter what it was, I would think about you, wonder what were you doing, if you remembered…anything. And as weeks became months, I began to accept that you were living your life, whatever that was, and that it didn't include me," he explains.

Mary frowns slightly, but remains quiet, patiently waiting for him to continue.

"And I would get very angry, then very sad, and cycling was a way to try and escape all that. I just rode indoors at the gym at first, listening to music. Then I bought a bike and got outside when spring came. I would struggle just to stay upright and navigate the streets, but eventually it became a nice distraction, a hobby. The problem became that the better I got at it, the longer I could ride for, and when you are out alone on your bike for hours, it gives you far too much time to think," he huffs.

He smiles ruefully, then turns away again. He places the pot into the rice cooker and sets the timer. He turns back and catches Mary still staring at him.

"I'm sorry, darling," he smiles. "I didn't mean to ramble like that. You must think me rather melodramatic."

"I don't think that of you at all," she replies. They watch each other for a moment before she looks down at the kitchen island. "Anything I can do to help with dinner?"

"Yes, you can go and see what bottle of wine you would like from the very limited selection over there," Matthew says, waving towards a cluster of bottles arranged neatly on a rack.

Mary bounces down from her stool and goes over to examine the wine bottles. Matthew frowns as he watches her. He finally turns away and busies himself with retrieving dishes, glasses and cutlery from the cupboards and drawers.

"How does Pinot Noir sound?" Mary calls, still facing away from him. "It's the only red you've got, actually."

"Perfect," Matthew says, opening the fridge and retrieving the steaks. "I'll just be a few minutes with these."

"All right," Mary smiles, bringing the bottle over as Matthew nods to her and takes the steaks up to the roof to grill them on the barbecue.

Mary places the wine bottle on the counter and stares at the label, her mind wandering as she arches her eyebrow, Matthew's words still fresh in her head.

**The High Line, Chelsea, Manhattan, New York City, USA, March 2015**

"Yesterday, you took me to Central Park and the Met, and today you take me…to the shipyards?" Mary asks, arching her eyebrow at him as he leads her down the sidewalk.

"Not exactly," Matthew chuckles.

"Well where are we going, then?" Mary asks.

"Just up here," he says.

She looks sceptically at an old metal staircase, but gamely follows him up. When they reach the top, she blinks in surprise. They're standing on an elevated platform that stretches far into the distance. Dozens of people are around them. Some are sunning themselves on large wooden lounge chairs. Others are jogging along the wide path. Still others are standing at the fence, looking out over the cold Hudson River.

"Goodness," Mary exclaims.

"Come on," Matthew smiles. "Let's take a stroll."

She takes his hand and they walk, passing tall office buildings and condo towers, billboard signs and parking lots. There's snow covering the bushes and trees planted along the path, but the walkway and benches are clear and it's quite pleasant to meander along together hand-in-hand with the city all around them.

"This used to be an old railway line," Matthew explains. "The city converted it into a park years ago and it's become rather popular. There's food stalls at different points, and when the weather is nicer, there are entertainers here and there."

"Mmm," Mary smiles, gazing around. "This place seems familiar somehow."

Matthew looks at her curiously. "Well, none of this had been built the last time you were here, but you may be thinking about a similar project in Paris," he says.

"Ah," Mary nods. "We went to Paris…" she states, remembering the photographs he showed her.

"That's right," Matthew smiles. "The park in Paris is called the _Coulée verte_. We jogged it together when we were there."

"But I thought that you didn't like jogging?" Mary asks, looking at him.

"I don't," Matthew says wryly. "I didn't back then and I still don't to this day. You were rather insistent…and threatening."

"Me?" Mary exclaims in shock.

"Yes, you," Matthew looks at her pointedly.

"That does sound like me," she laughs.

They keep walking, the weather still warm despite winter having not yet ended. Matthew tells her that he has an appointment with his publisher later in the week and that some of the people that Mary used to know are anxious to see her again.

"We don't have to, if you don't want to," Matthew says nervously. "I haven't even told them that we're back yet. They're just rather enthusiastic to see you again, is all."

"I'm sure it will be fine," Mary smiles. "If I liked them before, I'll get along with them this time, won't I?"

"I can't see why you wouldn't," Matthew nods.

"Right. However, perhaps we should wait a few days before we meet up with them," Mary adds.

"Of course," Matthew agrees. "Any particular reason why?"

"A very good reason," Mary says. "I want you all to myself for a little while longer."

Matthew grins widely and squeezes her hand as they keep walking.

**Home of Matthew Crawley, NoLIta, Manhattan, New York City, USA, March 2015**

Mary narrows her eyes in concentration as she gently squeezes the pastry bag. The strawberry icing comes out slowly and smoothly and she layers a heap of it on each of the freshly baked cupcakes. Putting the pastry bag down on the counter, she takes a small spatula and meticulously spreads the icing, ensuring each cupcake is neatly decorated. Pleased with her work, she arranges the cupcakes on a large plate and steps back, sipping her water and smiling proudly.

Their old apartment in Battery Park was different, of course, according to Matthew. The kitchen was tiny, for one. The oven was temperamental, they didn't have an electric mixer, and apparently she used a plastic sandwich bag with one corner cut open for a pastry bag. But Matthew assures her that she did bake, and cook, and rather enjoyed doing it. Now standing in Matthew's state-of-the-art kitchen amidst numerous gadgets and sparkling appliances, Mary is pleased that it seems some things from that time in her life survived to this day.

When she was younger, she hated cooking, or any domestic task, really. Her family had a cook and a kitchen maid, so what was the point of her learning anything for herself? After her life was thrown sideways and she moved to London to live with her Aunt Rosamund, she learned a few basics just hanging around the kitchen at Painswick House. She found cooking and baking to be surprisingly relaxing, and so she took more of an interest through her late teens and university years, and has kept at it ever since.

Since reuniting with Matthew weeks ago, they've eaten out or gotten take away for all of their meals. Tonight, she plans to surprise him with dinner when he comes home. She ponders the order and timing of what dishes to prepare when the sound of the door lock turning catches her attention. She checks her watch and frowns in confusion. Matthew isn't due back for another hour at least.

The door swings open and a tall man with black hair and hazel eyes comes in. He freezes at the sight of her. He looks quite stunned, but after several moments, he smiles and closes the door behind him.

"Lady Mary Crawley," he says, shaking his head in disbelief. "God, I thought we would never see you again."

Mary blinks several times, examining the man closely as he waits patiently for her response.

"Alex…" she declares finally, matching the face to the photos Matthew's shown her. "Alex Lewis, isn't it?"

"One and the same," Alex nods. He raises his arms as though he wants to come over and give her a hug, but then stops himself, remaining on the other side of the kitchen island and keeping his distance.

"Sorry for barging in like this," he apologizes. "I wasn't aware that both of you were back. I look after the place when Matthew is away and today is my weekly visit to water plants, let in some fresh air and check on things. He mentioned that you were flying in at some point this week, but didn't give me a precise date."

"We got here a few days ago," Mary nods. She was quite happy that Matthew didn't parade her around in front of his friends the moment they touched down. The past couple days have been lovely, just the two of them exploring the city and doing whatever comes to mind. As she faces Alex now, her feelings of trepidation about meeting strangers who apparently know quite a bit about her already return.

"Matthew's meeting with his publisher," Mary explains as Alex glances around. "He should be home in about an hour or so."

"Ah," Alex nods. "Well, I can come back later then."

"No, you can stay and wait for him," Mary blurts out, a bit thrown off. She's Matthew's girlfriend, isn't she? It's her duty to play host to his friends. Besides, from what Matthew's told her and from the photos she's seen, Alex was her friend as well. "If you like, it's no bother. Would you like a drink?"

"I would enjoy some milk to go with those delicious looking cupcakes," Alex smiles, staring at the treats on the counter.

"I'm sorry, but those are for Matthew," Mary smiles, turning around and going to the fridge. "I just finished them actually."

"You know, the old Mary always let me have the leftover icing when she was done baking," Alex says, sitting down comfortably on one of the stools.

Mary shivers slightly at the mention of her lost memories, but decides she needs to soldier on. This won't be the last time that someone refers to her past in New York. "Well, I have no recollection of that," she replies casually, pouring him a glass of milk and placing it in front of him. "But I'm sure that Matthew will be willing to share these with you when he gets home."

"Of course he will," Alex nods, raising his glass to her before taking a sip. "The thing is that I don't want to share with him."

Mary laughs lightly and busies herself with taking ingredients out of the fridge.

"So, how have you liked New York so far?" Alex asks.

"It's been fun," Mary replies. "And I have no complaints about the weather."

"It has been warm," Alex agrees. "Let's hope this means winter is almost over. Do you know how long you'll be staying?"

"I haven't thought about it. A few more weeks, at least," Mary says. "I took time off of work and there's no real reason to head back to London just yet."

"Good," Alex smiles. "Elisabeth will be happy that you're hanging around for a while."

Mary smiles politely and begins chopping vegetables. Apparently Elisabeth was one of her closest friends back when she lived here. Mary's unsure as to whether she wants to revive all of these old relationships or not. The thought of having to explain all that's happened in the intervening years feels exhausting to her.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Alex asks, trying to fill the awkward silence.

"No, thanks," Mary says. "I'm just making dinner."

"There must be something I can do," Alex says, standing up from the stool. "I assume Matthew's watered his plants since he's come back, so go ahead and put me to work, even something small."

Mary looks at him curiously.

"If you insist," she says. "You can wash, peel and slice the carrots and potatoes."

"As you wish, my Lady," Alex nods, walking around the kitchen island and taking the vegetables to the sink.

Mary continues with her own chopping as Alex goes about his task. She's grateful that he hasn't bombarded her with questions or regaled her with old stories.

She smiles as the lock turns in the door once more. Matthew comes in and blinks in surprise.

"Alex," he calls. "Sorry, I didn't realize you were coming over."

"I wouldn't have, if I had known you were back," Alex says, looking up from his peeled vegetables.

Matthew walks around the kitchen island and touches fists with Alex. Mary smirks at the gesture as he steps over to her and kisses her on the cheek.

"So you two have met, then?" Matthew asks nervously.

"We have," Mary nods. "Alex is helping me make dinner."

"And now that I'm done with that, I'll be leaving," Alex declares, sliding the bowl of sliced carrots and potatoes over to Mary.

"You don't have to go," Mary says. "There's plenty for all of us."

"No, I think I'll head out, actually," Alex smiles, sharing a glance with Matthew. "Thank you for the offer though. I'll see you both…?"

"You'll see us when you see us," Matthew says.

"I'll see you when I see you," Alex repeats. "Sounds good. Have a good night. It was good to see you again, Mary. Matthew, call me later."

"I will," Matthew nods.

"Good night, Alex," Mary smiles.

Alex nods and leaves the apartment.

"That wasn't necessary, you know," Mary frowns at him. "You don't have to hide me away. He could have stayed."

"He hates being the third wheel," Matthew says, throwing up his hands. "Besides, he knows better than to get in the way."

"Get in the way of what?" Mary asks.

"Of this," Matthew smiles.

Mary squeals in surprise as he lifts her up and places her on the kitchen island. She wraps her arms around his shoulders as he kisses her firmly.

"Matthew!" she scolds him as he kisses her neck, but she doesn't push him away.

"Alex is well aware of how disgustingly affectionate we can be," Matthew grins, holding her close as he kisses the spot below her ear.

"We're not a couple of randy teenagers," Mary frowns, sighing as his kisses make her shiver. "Surely we can behave around others?"

"I don't know. We had our moments before," Matthew chuckles against her skin. "I'm quite glad that he left us alone, actually."

Mary laughs and brings his face up to hers. She kisses him deeply, then gently pushes him back after several moments.

"Behave yourself," she smiles. "I want to get on with making our dinner."

"You made dinner?" he asks incredulously.

"Don't act so shocked. I'm a better cook than you are," Mary fires back.

"Yes, I know you are," Matthew stammers. "It's just been quite a long time since you last cooked for me."

"Well I can't let you starve," she smiles.

"Fine, but consider this a postponement of what we were doing, until later," he says, arching his eyebrows at her playfully.

"Go and set the table," Mary commands. "If you're a good boy, we'll see about later."

Matthew sighs dramatically, then fetches the dishes.

Dinner is delicious, and Mary blushes several times as Matthew effusively praises her spaghetti Carbonara. It's a simple dish, but she's rather impressed with it herself, the creaminess of the egg has turned out perfectly.

"How was your meeting?" she asks as she sips her wine.

"Fine," Matthew nods, pushing his empty plate away. "I need to go back later in the week to sign some papers. It shouldn't take long."

"I wouldn't mind seeing where all the magic happens," Mary smiles.

"I'll show it to you, gladly," Matthew laughs. "It's a nice office, actually. There's walls and walls of books. It's quite a modern, open space, very few walls, lots of colour and light."

"Sounds impressive," Mary nods.

Matthew laughs. "Now, what's for dessert?"

"Cupcakes," Mary nods. "Marble with strawberry icing."

Matthew blinks in surprise. "You noticed that from those photos of my birthday?"

"I may have," Mary says with pretend disinterest.

Matthew shakes his head, grinning at her.

"Put these dishes in the sink and I'll go and get your dessert," she says teasingly.

Matthew hurries to comply.

**Pete's Tavern, Gramercy, Manhattan, New York City, USA, March 2015**

Matthew holds Mary's hand tightly as they walk down the street. The sun is setting in the distance and the area is busy with people leaving work and heading home.

"Slow down, Matthew," Mary says, looking at him. "We've plenty of time."

"Sorry," Matthew mutters, easing her around a group headed for the subway.

"Matthew, I met the Royal Family when I was eight years old. If I can survive that, surely I can manage with a few of your old friends?" she jokes.

"They're our friends," Matthew reminds her. "And I know you'll be brilliant."

"Then why are you so nervous?" she asks.

"I'm not! I'm not," Matthew says, running his hand through his hair. "I just want to get in before the happy hour crowd comes through."

"The happy hour crowd has probably been there for a while already," Mary points out. "Matthew, stop."

He stops walking and turns towards her. She pushes him out of the flow of the pedestrian traffic and hugs him against the wall of the building.

"I know you chose a pub on purpose because you wanted drinks to be at the ready and a large crowd so I wouldn't be the centre of attention," Mary notes.

Matthew smiles sheepishly.

"You're a darling," she smiles appreciatively. "But you don't need to worry. I've been used to people poking and prodding at me all my life, because of my family, because of my title, because of all manner of things. I'm flattered that your…that our friends want to meet me again. So let's just have a good time, all right?"

Matthew sighs and nods.

"Good," Mary declares.

They make their way to the pub and the place is already quite full. Matthew leads her throw the crowd gathered at the bar and over to a booth where Alex looks up and waves. As they approach, a woman with blonde hair and green eyes gets up from the booth. She squeals in delight and leaps at Mary.

"I don't fucking believe it! Mary!" she shouts, hugging Mary tightly.

Mary stiffens and lightly pats the woman's back, glancing over at Matthew in shock until the woman finally releases her.

"Mary, this is Elisabeth, in case you hadn't figured that out already," Matthew cringes.

"Hello Elisabeth," Mary manages before Elisabeth pulls her into another hug.

They eventually sit down and order drinks. Alex has calamari and chicken wings brought to the table. The conversation begins in safe territory – how each of them spent their day. Mary learns that Alex is a manager at Credit Suisse bank, and Elisabeth is an assistant editor at _Glamour_ magazine. Alex knew Matthew from Manchester, and was living in New York for years when Matthew and Mary first came over. Elisabeth was born and raised in Manhattan, and met Mary and Matthew through Alex ten years ago. Most of their group of friends from back then have left New York.

"So I hear that I ought to take the credit for getting the two of you back together?" Elisabeth asks, sipping her white wine.

"As with many things, you stirred the pot," Matthew answers, smiling at Mary. "It took some doing, but it all worked out."

Mary nods in agreement.

"See?" Elisabeth says, smiling at Matthew. "You guys are all over me about taking photos, and look…if it wasn't for me, you wouldn't be sitting here next to Mary today."

"That's not exactly true," Matthew retorts. "Mary and I were already seeing each other when she discovered your lovely photo. She just didn't know anything about our past. She almost threw me over because of your photo actually."

"I almost threw you over because you didn't tell me about our past, not because of the photo," Mary says, smiling conspiratorially at Elisabeth.

"Exactly!" Elisabeth smiles smugly. "I gave you the push that you needed. God knows how many years you would have waited to tell her if not for that."

Matthew rolls his eyes as the rest of them laugh.

"Come to think of it, this moment deserves to be captured!" Elisabeth exclaims, fishing in her purse for her phone.

"I warned you," Matthew says to Mary.

"Oh shut up and get out of the way," Elisabeth growls, coming around to their side of the booth.

Matthew gets up and Elisabeth shoves her way past him, sitting down next to Mary.

"Ready? One, two, three!" she says, holding her phone out and taking a few selfies of them, much to Mary's amusement.

Matthew looks on, sharing a knowing glance with Alex as Elisabeth shows Mary the pictures on her phone. Elisabeth immediately posts the picture on Instagram, spending a few minutes coming up with numerous hashtags to add to the caption.

"There," Elisabeth smiles, scooting back around to her seat. "Now there's proof that we know each other as well."

"You can always deny it, Mary," Alex says with mock seriousness. "Just claim that some strange Scandinavian woman accosted you."

"You should be so lucky," Elisabeth spits at him.

"No thanks," Alex shakes his head. "I have a reputation to uphold."

"You know, Mary," Elisabeth grumbles. "Ten years away from these two doesn't sound so bad, actually."

Mary laughs.

"So you don't remember anything?" Elisabeth asks.

"No," Mary shakes her head. "I went to therapy for a while but nothing clicked. It's nice being back in New York, but I couldn't tell you what I did the last time I was here or whether anything seems familiar or not."

"Lucky for you," Alex says to Elisabeth. "That's one less witness you need to keep quiet about your scandalous past."

"Whatever," Elisabeth scoffs at him.

**Home of Matthew Crawley, NoLIta, Manhattan, New York City, March 2015**

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Matthew asks hopefully.

"It was fun," Mary smiles as he slides into bed next to her. "They were exactly as you described them, and I thought they were rather nice. Elisabeth is a bit of a close talker, but I was able to get used to it."

"Most people do," Matthew nods. "She's a great friend. She just isn't very shy, is all."

Mary smiles and settles back against the pillows.

"They want to go out again, of course," Matthew tells her. "I told them we'd have to see. I kind of like not having any firm plans and just doing whatever we want each day."

"So do I," Mary smiles. She moves towards him and kisses him, pushing him on to his back and moving on top of him.

**HarperCollins Publishers LLC, Financial District, Manhattan, New York City, USA, March 2015**

"I'll only be a moment," Matthew says, letting go of Mary's hand. "Jim will keep you company until I'm done."

"Of course," Mary nods. "Take your time."

Matthew walks down the hall with the receptionist and disappears around the corner. The young assistant, Jim Wakefield, motions for Mary to follow him. They pass the large and impressive bookshelf that stretches along one wall, displaying popular books and a company welcome message on two large television screens. Mary glances around as she goes. Matthew was right. The lobby is quite impressive and she can see the floors above through the open layout. Wakefield escorts her up a flight of stairs and into a glass-walled boardroom. The long table is covered with boxes. Mary walks over to the large windows and looks out at the view of the surrounding office towers.

"Tea, Lady Mary," Wakefield announces.

"Thank you," Mary says automatically as she turns around and walks over to the table. She adds milk and sugar to her tea and takes a sip.

"What's all this?" She asks, nodding towards the boxes.

"Oh, that's Matthew's fanmail," Wakefield says.

"What?" Mary asks in surprise.

"His fanmail, Lady Mary," Wakefield repeats. "He doesn't give out his address so some of his fans send their mail to us to pass on to him."

"Really," Mary says, walking over and peering into the boxes.

"They're mainly cards, or little thank-you notes," Wakefield explains. "Some of the longer ones talk about how a character in the book reminds them of a friend or family member."

"Is that so?" Mary replies. She frowns as she notices a black bra in one of the boxes.

"We get a few of those every so often," Wakefield laughs, seeing what has caught Mary's attention. "It's because of the scene in the book you see, where the main character goes to visit her boyfriend and…"

"I've read the book, thank you," Mary interjects. She frowns again as she absorbs Wakefield's words. _'…a few of those every so often'_?

"Most people just ask for autographs," Wakefield goes on. "We get requests for him to make appearances or donate signed copies for charity, that sort of thing. There's a marriage proposal here and there, too."

"How interesting," Mary says tightly.

"Matthew's quite good about it all. He comes in once a month and signs for a few hours. He's quite generous that way, actually," Wakefield says.

Mary smiles at that.

"Is this your first time in New York?" Wakefield asks.

"No, but I haven't been here for quite a long while, so it's new to me, for the most part," Mary replies.

"I've been living here for eight years and I barely know my way around," Wakefield laughs. "And you're originally from England, is it?"

"How did you know?" Mary smiles.

"It's your accent. I have an ear for it," Wakefield replies, completely serious.

"Ah," Mary nods, holding back her laughter.

"I guess Matthew will be splitting his time between New York and London from now on, then?" Wakefield asks as he goes about organizing the boxes.

Mary blinks in surprise. "Yes, I suppose so," she says slowly.

"It'll be strange not seeing him around here as often," Wakefield shrugs. "But I suppose he can write from anywhere, and most of his time will be spent on dealing with the movie studio on the screenplay anyway."

"Yes, yes it will," Mary agrees, frowning at the thought.

"When we first started dealing with Matthew, I didn't even know he was from England," Wakefield laughs. "I just assumed he'd lived in New York all his life since he'd been here for so long. But, I guess in a way he has, right? He's hasn't lived in London for years."

"That's right," Mary admits. "Over ten years."

She puts her tea cup down on the table and goes back to the window, rubbing her arms as she looks out on the busy city below. It hits her suddenly that the only thing for her in New York is Matthew, just as the only thing left in London for him is her.

"There, all done," Matthew calls from the doorway. "I hope you weren't too bored."

"Not at all," Mary smiles, turning around and walking over to him. "Mr. Wakefield was just showing me the presents you've received from your loyal admirers."

"Ah," Matthew smiles wryly. "Yes, well, I'll deal with those some other time. Wakefield."

"Have a good day, Matthew, Lady Mary," Wakefield nods.

"Now, where are we off to?" Matthew asks, taking her hand and escorting her back down to the lobby and the elevators beyond.

"The Guggenheim," Mary replies, holding on to his hand as they leave the office.

**Planet Rose Karaoke Bar, East Village, Manhattan, New York City, USA, March 2015**

"Do you remember any of this?" Elisabeth asks.

Mary looks around the room, taking in the garish neon signs, the faux zebra skin covered furniture, and the television screens up on stage with song lyrics crawling across them in various colours.

"No, I'm afraid not. To be honest, I have a hard time believing that I ever came here, even though I know from Matthew's photos that I did. It just is so different from the kinds of places I went to in London," Mary replies.

"Well, you were here, all right. We would come here on weekends or for birthdays and share a pitcher or a bottle or whatever we could scrap together enough money for, and we would own the microphone for the whole night," Elisabeth laughs.

She raises her shot glass to Mary, who raises hers in return, and they down the drinks swiftly. Mary grimaces as the vodka hits the back of her throat.

"What did we sing?" she asks, swallowing several times.

"Oh, I'm strictly an 80's girl. A lot of Cyndi Lauper and Janet Jackson. You would change depending on your mood. Sometimes you were jazz, sometimes you were pop. When you were really tipsy you'd do Oasis and The Beatles," Elisabeth cackles.

"If Matthew didn't have incriminating videos of it, I would swear you all were lying," Mary shakes her head.

"Do you feel embarrassed by it? Shocked by that time in your life?" Elisabeth asks.

"No. But it just seems as though I was a different person, a person that I'm not now. I wonder if I ever was that person truly, or if I just was that person around Matthew. Being without him for these past ten years, it's as though that part of me, the softer side, the spontaneous side, the person I was when I was with him, is gone, and I don't know if I can ever get her back," Mary frowns.

"Ten years ago I smoked weed, couldn't run for a block without losing my breath, and my drink of choice was Amaretto and 7. Trust me, there's some parts of us better left in the past," Elisabeth advises her.

Mary laughs as Elisabeth puts another shot in front of her.

"It's just that I wonder…" Mary mutters, looking at the shot glass.

"If you're wondering whether Matthew will love the person you are now, or whether he'll constantly miss the person you were ten years ago, let me give you a bit of advice," Elisabeth declares.

Mary looks at her curiously, surprised that Elisabeth is able to catch on to her thoughts.

"I tried to set up Matthew with pretty much every single friend I had in the years after you left. I was even desperate enough to try and set him up with some of my friends who were already in relationships, because I thought their boyfriends were douches. You can ask Alex, I was parading women in front of him non-stop for three years."

Mary nods. She feels she needs to hear this, to hear about Matthew's love life in the years she was gone. She's been trying to avoid it, thinking it didn't matter, but a part of her still wonders what he's been doing for all that time, why he didn't move on with someone else.

"He was never interested," Elisabeth shrugs. "He was polite and courteous. He would make conversation and act like…well, like Matthew. But, he never went for any of them, you know? And believe me, I set him up with all kinds. Women ready to marry him on the spot, women just looking for something casual, women who would fuck him on demand. He just…didn't want them, Mary. He didn't want anyone…except you."

Mary frowns and looks away. What Elisabeth says doesn't make any sense. Why would Matthew turn down all these other women and yet do nothing to come after her for ten years?

"So yes, his last memory of you was that person you were ten years ago. And, yes, maybe you aren't that person anymore. But, he's been living like a monk for the entire time that you've been gone. So if you think that you're going to disappoint him somehow, well your only competition is an empty bed and some old photographs and videos that's he's stared at so many times he could probably recite them from memory. If you ask me, you've got a pretty low standard to beat there," Elisabeth finishes.

Mary opens her mouth to say something, but she's interrupted by Elisabeth's groan.

"Oh for fuck's sakes," Elisabeth shakes her head. "Not again."

Mary follows her line of sight and blinks as she sees Matthew and Alex standing at the front of the room, microphones in hand. There isn't an actual stage in the place, and patrons are invited to sing from their seats if they like. Apparently, Matthew and Alex have no intention of hiding.

"Just be glad that you weren't around when they started doing this," Elisabeth says, shaking her head and taking another drink.

Mary's mouth falls open as the familiar beat of Beyoncé's _Single Ladies_ begins playing and the music video lights up the televisions.

"No," Mary shakes her head, looking at Elisabeth for an explanation.

"Wait until you see them do the dance during the chorus," Elisabeth rolls her eyes.

**Equinox Printing House Gym, Chelsea, Manhattan, New York City, USA, March 2015**

"What did you want to work on first?" Matthew asks as they walk past rows of treadmills and elliptical machines and make their way to the free weights.

"It's a leg day," Mary declares. "Probably start with squats."

"After you, then," Matthew smiles, motioning to the rack.

"I'll just start with the bar," Mary says as she approaches the squat rack. "I don't really want to go too hard today."

"Fair enough," Matthew says, standing back.

Mary takes her position and adjusts her grip on the metal bar. She lifts with her legs and balances the bar on her shoulders. Breathing in and out slowly, she bends her knees and controls the weight through her movement, then rises back up. She repeats the exercise eight times, her form and technique impeccable.

Matthew pretends to take a sip from his water bottle, and nonchalantly watches Mary as though he's checking to make sure her form is right. Mary's leg exercise pushes her bottom out as she bends her knees and the yoga pants she's wearing are quite flattering. They've worked out together before in the past few weeks, but this is the first time that he's found himself paying close attention to her from this particular angle.

Mary finishes her set of repetitions and puts the bar back on the squat rack. She straightens, leaning against the metal rack and stretching her legs. She finally turns around and goes over to Matthew.

"How was that?" she asks.

"Oh, good," Matthew replies cheerfully. "How did it feel?"

"Fine," Mary says lightly. "Are you going to work in?"

"Oh, no, I'm all right," he shakes his head. "You should do a circuit with limited rest. It'll help shock your muscles for the next exercise."

"All right," she shrugs, turning around to go back to the squat rack. She smiles at him over her shoulder. "I do think you should go first on the next exercise though. Then I can stare at your ass while you work out."

Matthew blushes as Mary begins her next set of exercises.

**Lobby Lounge, Mandarin Oriental Hotel, Midtown Manhattan, New York City, USA, March 2015**

"What did the two of you get up to today?" Alex asks, taking a bite out of the whimsical grilled chicken lollipop.

"The snow cancelled most of our plans," Mary complains. "I ended up going shopping while Matthew stayed home and worked on his screenplay."

"I'm surprised he let you out of his sight," Alex smiles. "You've got ten years to make up for."

Mary blushes slightly and sips her martini. "I wouldn't say that. Yes, it's been ten years, but it isn't as though he was idle that entire time without me."

Alex looks at her curiously. "Yeah, he kept busy, but that was just to take his mind off of you. You must know that. That's what he does, how he copes. He stays busy to avoid having to deal."

"The first little while may have been difficult for him," Mary allows, shaking her head. "But it must have gotten easier, surely? On his own here in New York, being able to write everyday, no one to look after, being able to focus entirely on himself, it doesn't sound so bad. And when he signed with his publisher and things began to take off for him, he became a young, single, attractive bachelor with newfound wealth and no attachments. That kind of man could rule Manhattan, couldn't he?"

"Maybe, but not Matthew," Alex shakes his head. "He stayed focused on school, then on writing and finishing his book. That was it for him."

"Come on, Alex," Mary groans. "You don't need to spare my feelings. I don't care how many women Matthew had in the time I was gone. That's all in the past, anyway."

Alex smiles wanly. He takes a sip of his scotch, then carefully places the glass back down on the coaster. He leans towards Mary, eyeing her with a sympathetic glance.

"Mary, I know you don't remember meeting Matthew, or anything about the year before you did. And I know that you don't remember when you lived here and what that was like, either. But there's something you need to understand about Matthew. It's something that hasn't changed in all the years that I've known him, and especially hasn't changed one bit in the past ten years since he was with you. He may wear his heart on his sleeve, yes, but he'd sooner slit your throat than let you get anywhere near to it."

Mary frowned.

Alex speaks to her slowly and quietly. "Those years after you left, Mary, Matthew was a wreck. All he had was his writing, his bike, his music, and his food. He worked out and rode his bike everyday. He didn't go anywhere without his earphones on. Music, audiobooks, lectures, whatever. He always had to be listening to something, so that he didn't have to talk to anyone, you see. And food. He learned to cook and went out to eat when he could afford it. Besides me, and Elisabeth and a few others, he didn't socialize unless he absolutely had to – a friend's birthday or an NYU event or a pitch meeting with a publisher. His life became a series of tasks, Mary. He just went from one thing to another so he wouldn't have to sit still. Because whenever he did sit still, he would think about you, and thinking about you would hurt…a lot."

"Then why didn't he come after me sooner?" Mary asks, frustration bubbling inside of her. "Why? Ten years, Alex! Ten years! Not one word. He knew where I was. He knew how to reach me. He was in London numerous times…at Christmas on his way to Manchester, and even in the past few years for meetings about the book and what not. He knew where I lived! He never bothered until my Aunt Rosamund died."

Mary looks away, a bit embarrassed by her outburst. She isn't angry. She isn't sad. She's just tired, tired of wondering what might have been if Matthew had only tried to get to her sooner, tired of this fear she can't shake that he's only with her now because he wants to relive their old relationship, and that she's with him because she's trying to get back something she can never have again.

Alex waits patiently for her to settle down. When he sees her expression calm and hears her sigh and turn back to him, he speaks again.

"Mary, you're assuming a lot, and I know you have to do that because you have nothing to remind you, and of course Matthew doesn't want to talk about it. He'd rather focus on the present and the future, and maybe that's for the best," Alex nods.

"What do you mean, I'm assuming a lot? What am I assuming?" Mary asks.

"You're assuming that you and Matthew got along from the off. You're assuming that you fell madly in love with each other from the very beginning," Alex answers, his eyes meeting hers.

"Well, yes, of course," Mary frowns. "Alex, we were only together for just over a year before I decided to drop everything and move with him to another country. We couldn't have been just casually dating?"

"No, you were more into each other than that," Alex chuckles. "But Mary, it wasn't love at first sight, at least not for you. Matthew adored you from the very beginning, but you…you hated him."

"What?" Mary exclaims. "But, how?"

"What do you know about how you first met?" Alex asks.

"He was my tutor for a course in university," Mary answers automatically. "We spent time together over the summer and one thing led to another."

"I only know the story from Matthew. I didn't meet you until you got to New York. But it was pretty obvious from all his emails and the times he called me in a panic that he didn't think he made the best impression upon you. Something about you taking offence to something he said."

"I don't understand," Mary shook her head. "If we didn't get along at the beginning, then how did we…how did we fall in love?"

"Through sheer determination," Alex smiles in reflection. "Matthew wasn't in the same social circle as you, and you know how your aunt felt about him, so he had to work quite hard just to get any time with you, beyond your study sessions. He won you over the old fashioned way – through wit and smarts and not backing down when you challenged him. From what he told me, you argued a lot over your papers and essays, and the fights became more like sparring contests, like debates, and you both grew to enjoy them. You discovered that you were quite well matched, that you shared far more in common than you first thought. He became less judgemental, and you became more open and expressive, and Matthew kept finding reasons to spend time with you, until one day he asked you out on a real date and you said yes, and the rest, as they say, is history."

Mary looks away, contemplating this new information. It certainly sounds like them, particularly the arguing part.

Alex draws her attention once more. "So, you see, Mary, when you lost your memory, it wasn't just that you forgot everything that you did with Matthew. That was horrible, of course, but those memories could be reconstructed from photos and videos and all of us telling you what happened. That wasn't the hard part for Matthew. The hard part was realizing that, because of your memory loss, you naturally would become the same woman you were before you met him."

"The woman who wanted nothing to do with him…" Mary says, blinking in realization.

"Exactly," Alex confirms. "So, you wanted to know why Matthew didn't contact you? Well, having to go through your Aunt Rosamund and all your so-called friends was a daunting task, but he'd done it before, so he wasn't afraid of that. It was having to make you fall in love with him again. He thought he won the lottery when he did it the first time, you see. He didn't think he could get that lucky again, especially right after you went back to London, as he expected that you would be shielded and protected by your aunt even worse than before."

Mary furrows her brow, too overcome to respond.

Alex goes on. "If you think that Matthew gave up on you, then you're probably right. He did. But he didn't give up on you because he didn't love you, Mary. He gave up because he thought you were better off without him, and he didn't want the last memory he had of you to be your rejecting him if he came after you and you didn't remember him. It's like if someone you love dies, don't look at them dead if you don't want that image in your brain forever, because once you see it, it will never leave you. Matthew preferred to remember the happy times he had with you instead."

Mary frowns, thinking about Matthew's trove of photographs and videos.

"He wouldn't want me to tell you any of this," Alex says, looking over at the entrance for some sign of Matthew. "But I know the question is weighing on you, and probably would have eaten away at you over time. I know how happy you make him. And I knew how happy the two of you were before, and I want you to have every chance to find that again, so I'm telling you this now. It's up to you to figure out what any of it means."

"Thank you, Alex," Mary manages after a long silence.

Alex nods. He drinks his scotch and leaves her alone to weigh all that he's revealed.

"Sorry about that, darling," Matthew says, sitting back down at the table. "Unfortunately one of the servers caught me on my way back in and he had a supposedly brilliant idea for a sequel to _Epiphany_. I didn't want him to spit in our drinks so I had to listen to him with rapt attention. I hope you weren't too bored by Alex's stories."

Mary turns and gives Matthew a brilliant smile.

"Not at all," she laughs. "I found them entirely enlightening."

Matthew smiles at Alex and reaches for his beer.

**Home of Matthew Crawley, NoLIta, Manhattan, New York City, USA, March 2015**

She probably would have missed it if she wasn't so dead set on reorganizing his closet. Matthew has a disturbing habit of keeping his dress shoes in the bedroom closet, which makes no sense whatsoever. His hall closet holds his boots and trainers and cycling shoes, but he keeps his dress shoes in the bedroom closet. Mary decides that his shoes should all be in the hall closet, and so, with a roll of her eyes, she gets down on her knees and begins removing his shoes from the bedroom closet to transport them to the hall closet where they belong.

She likely would have missed it if the box in question wasn't a large transparent plastic storage bin that allows one to see its contents without opening it. It's nestled in the back of the closet and though she doesn't need to touch it or move it to get at his shoes, she notices it while she's crouched down there and the colour of the contents jumps out at her.

She certainly would have missed it if she didn't recognize the distinctive blue packages and the ribbons, some white, some red. She can see them clearly through the box and she doesn't know if she's afraid or intrigued by them. She pulls the box out of the closet but doesn't open it, sitting back on the floor staring at it for minutes, Matthew's dress shoes abandoned for now.

Now that she's found this, she can't avoid it.

Mary carries the box over to the bed and opens the flaps of the lid slowly. She swallows nervously as she peers inside. There are dozens of small blue bags arranged in neat rows. She takes a deep breath and takes one out. Opening it, she pulls out a small blue box, the small white envelope containing the receipt still nestled beneath.

She glances at the receipt and shakes her head slightly, almost not surprised by what she reads. February 14, 2005. Valentine's Day, three months after her accident, three months after Aunt Rosamund took her from New York and brought her back to London.

She undoes the white ribbon and opens the box carefully. The small blue cloth pouch contained within holds a pair of sterling silver earrings in the same heart shape as the pendant around her neck. She closes her eyes for a moment, then opens them and replaces the earrings back in the pouch, the pouch back in the box and the box back in the bag. The bag goes back in the storage bin. She takes a deep breath and reaches for the next unopened blue bag.

There are all manner of conclusions that a woman can leap to when discovering a bin full of gift bags from Tiffany in her boyfriend's bedroom closet. The jaded would assume that he'd been storing them to give out to numerous women to get into their beds. The petty would be looking at the receipts to see how much he spent. The naïve would find it romantic and sweet and pay it no further attention.

Mary is neither jaded, petty or naïve; not when it comes to him, not when it comes to them.

They're all for her. She knew it the moment she discovered the bin and saw the trademark Tiffany blue bags staring back at her. The receipts only confirmed what she already knew – not the amounts spent, but the dates of each purchase. Matthew went to Tiffany in the months of February, May, July and December of each year since 2005 and bought jewellery. The gifts became more expensive over the years as his income grew, but the frequency was as reliable as a fine Swiss watch. February, May, July and December. Valentine's Day, the anniversary of their first meeting, her birthday and Christmas. Every year for ten years he bought gifts for her and kept them stored here with no expectation that he would ever be able to give them to her. They're beautiful – earrings, necklaces and bracelets, some silver, some gold, some with diamonds and some without. But are these reminders of his love for her that never died in those ten years, or are they, in a fashion, pretty links in a chain to the past, making him cling to a memory that he can never go back to?

Mary closes up the storage bin and puts it back where she found it. She returns to her task of reorganizing Matthew's shoes, determined to finish before he gets home.

**The Red Threads Furniture Store, NoLIta, Manhattan, New York City, USA, March 2015**

"They can change the configuration and the dimensions to suit your living room," Mary informs him. "I think the chaise would go well along the far wall. That way it doesn't cut off the space and you have somewhere to lie down that's separate from the rest of the couch."

Matthew looks over the sectional couch carefully. It's far nicer and fancier than what he currently has, and he has to admit the upholstery feels quite comfortable.

"Fine," he nods. "Though I must say it's rather big. One thing I like about my current sofa is that it requires us to cuddle if we both want to lie down."

Mary rolls her eyes and moves on to another part of the store.

"This would go perfectly with the sectional," she smiles, showing him an irregularly shaped wooden coffee table. "It's cut from a single slab, and you can also get it in Ash or Maple. I think Cherry is best though. It's more rugged, and fits with the brick walls and your bookshelves."

Matthew frowns as he looks at the coffee table. One edge is perfectly straight, the other is curved and jagged, meant to resemble a natural piece of wood found in the wilderness, he thinks.

"It's…interesting," he says, leaning over and touching the wood surface several times. "But, if you like it, then great. We'll take it."

Mary frowns for a moment at his answer, then nods and leaves for yet another section of the store.

"Feel these bed linens," she says enthusiastically. "It's softer than the set you have now, and the colour combination is quite modern."

Matthew runs his hand over the duvet cover. There's multiple sheets in white, blue, pewter and brown, and different pillow shams of varying sizes as well. He wonders how he is ever going to figure out where everything is supposed to fit, besides the fact that he doesn't think he even has enough pillows to fill out the entire set shown here.

"Well, we want the bed to be as comfortable as possible, don't we?" he smirks at Mary playfully.

"The real question is what you think of it," she scolds him. "It's an immense improvement, unless you hate it."

"No, it's quite nice," Matthew nods politely. "Go ahead and get it."

Mary stares at him for a moment, then turns away.

"Good, then that's settled," she declares, and goes to finalize the order with the store clerk.

Matthew follows dutifully behind her.

**Home of Matthew Crawley, NoLIta, Manhattan, New York City, USA, March 2015**

Mary looks up from the computer as Matthew comes in through the door. He's carrying a large box, which he places on the kitchen island.

"What's that?" she asks him.

"You'll see. What are you up to?" he asks, kissing her cheek.

"Just checking email," she replies, sipping her cup of tea. "We're in the final planning stages for the next fundraising campaign at the Gallery, and they sent me some mock ups for the mailings and web pages."

"I thought that we were leaving work behind on this trip," Matthew teases.

"Says the man who was up half the night typing away on his screenplay," she says, arching her eyebrow at him.

"I thought you were asleep," he laughs.

"I wasn't," she retorts. "Now what's in the box?"

"So demanding," Matthew smiles. "I shall reveal whatever is in here in due time. You can't just spoil the surprise."

"I can if I want to," she replies. "Now let me see."

"All right," Matthew laughs. "I got something to put up on the walls, like you suggested."

"Ah," Mary smiles. "This should be interesting. Did you find some paintings at that place on Prince?"

"No, something better," he smiles. He takes out several wrapped packages from the box and sets them on the kitchen island in front of Mary. He removes the wrapping paper, revealing eight framed photographs.

"It was hard to choose just eight," he explains. "But I thought we would start with these, then add more as we went along. The advantage of using frames of different sizes is we can move them around however we like and make room for others."

Mary looks at the framed photos. She recognizes the images from the hundreds that Matthew showed her from before. There's the Arc de Triomphe in Paris and the Palacio Real de Madrid in Spain. There's a photo of the two of them on a sun drenched patio in Toronto and another taken from the Observation Deck of the Empire State Building ten years ago. She imagines them arranged on the wall above the new sectional couch that she ordered for him, snapshots of moments from their life together.

Moments that she doesn't remember.

"What do you think?" he asks, his eyes bright with anticipation at her response. "Rather brilliant, aren't they?"

"They're nice," she nods. "You know, I should probably get back to work on the fundraising campaign. I'll just go into the other room."

Matthew frowns in confusion as Mary grabs the laptop computer and her cup of tea and disappears down the hall.

* * *

"Mary?" Matthew calls, knocking on the closed guest room door. "Darling, are you just about done? Dinner's almost ready."

He frowns as he hears no response from her.

"Mary?" he asks again.

Nothing.

Matthew opens the door slowly. He never envisioned using this second bedroom, but when he moved in years ago, he thought he might need a place for his mother to stay over if she ever visited, so he bought a bed and a matching night stand and set them up in here. Other than that, the room has sat undisturbed for years.

Mary is sitting in the middle of the bed, her knees folded up against her chest. She's staring into space and Matthew is almost afraid to approach her. He steps forward anyway and carefully sits down on the bed next to her.

"I'm going back to London," she says quietly, her eyes still looking at some unknown point in front of her.

Matthew frowns. "Oh," he manages. "All right. We can fly out tomorrow and be back home tomorrow evening."

"No," she shakes her head. "I'm going back home alone."

"What?" Matthew says in alarm.

She finally turns and looks at him.

"This can't work, Matthew, don't you see?" she says, her voice calm, but her eyes are flickering. "Your life is here in New York, and mine is back in England."

"Darling, there are these wonderful inventions called airplanes that allow us to travel great distances in mere hours instead of making crossings by ship over a week or more," he says sarcastically.

"I'm being serious, Matthew!" she frowns. "These past few weeks have been like living in a dream, and it's time to return to real life."

"That's utter nonsense!" he snarls. "What brought this on? I thought you were enjoying yourself here."

"I am!" she sighs. "I…this trip has been wonderful."

"Then what is it?" he demands.

"This isn't real, Matthew," Mary shouts. "This…all of this…you and me. We're both just trying to relive the past. We're caught up in the romance and fantasy of finding each other again, but that's not what a real relationship should be based on. We're not the same people we were ten years ago, so we should be brave and back away now, rather than drag this out any longer."

"I don't…" Matthew starts, then scoffs in exasperation. "You've had a change of heart because of the picture wall? Mary, what are you saying?"

"It isn't just the picture wall," she says dismissively, rolling her eyes. "It's more than that. It's that you never moved on, you never dated anyone else, you never put your mind to making this place your actual home, you're still reminiscing about places we went to and things we did. You bought all of that jewellery from Tiffany every year!"

"How did you know about that?" he asks in shock.

"What does it matter?" she groans, throwing up her hands. "I found all of it last week when I was organizing your shoes. The fact is that you've been in limbo, Matthew. You've been obsessed with me, the me that you knew from ten years ago. You don't love me. You love her."

"You're throwing me over because you think I'm not in love with you, but with the you from ten years ago?" he asks, completely frustrated.

"Yes," Mary nods.

Matthew takes a deep breath and looks up at the ceiling before looking at her again.

"Mary, that's absolutely mad," he says calmly. "I love you. The you that's sitting in front of me right now. I fell in love with you ten years ago, and whether you choose to believe it or not, the you from ten years ago is still you."

"No, it's not!" she says vehemently. "I don't remember, Matthew! I don't remember anything! I'm not her, and I never will be again! I look like her, and I sound like her, but I'm not her, and someday you're going to wake up and realize that I'm not her and that you've been in love with a figment of your imagination, rather than the real me, and where will that leave us then?"

"You think I'm going to leave you?" he says, even more confused now. "Why the hell would I do that?"

"Because I'm not as nice as she was!" Mary exclaims. "I'm not carefree and spontaneous! I'm not a bloody hipster! I don't sing karaoke, or buy exclusively organic groceries, or want to spend my weekends doing tequila shots at some cheap bar! I don't gush over you or kiss you in public or plan surprise parties for you on special occasions. That's not who I am, Matthew, and no matter how much you may wish for it, that's not how we'll be with each other."

Matthew runs his hand up his face and through his hair. He finally reaches over and takes her hand. Mary reluctantly allows him to hold it, her eyes watching as his fingers clasp hers and his thumb strokes her knuckles.

"Do you love me?" he asks quietly.

"What?" she blinks.

"It's a simple question. Do you love me?" he asks again.

"Yes," she whispers, tears forming in her eyes. "That's why I…"

"Shh," he says softly. He pauses until he is sure she won't interrupt.

"What do you remember about meeting me? Not what I've told you, or what you've heard from anyone else. What do you remember yourself about meeting me?" he asks.

"Nothing," she frowns. "You know I don't remember anything about that."

"Exactly," he says, staring into her eyes. "You don't remember meeting me. You don't remember how we fell in love the first time. You don't remember who I used to be ten years ago, and yet you love me anyway."

Mary opens her mouth to speak, but can't think of anything to say.

"We are going to go and have dinner," he smiles. "And we're going to drink wine. And you are going to ask me anything and everything that you want to know, about our past, about our future, about whatever comes to mind, for however long it takes. And once we're done, if you still want to go back to London right away, then I will book your flight. But don't think you can get rid of me that easily. I won't make that mistake again."

He gets up from the bed, still holding her hand. He looks at her reassuringly, a smile still on his lips. Mary swallows. Her stomach is in knots and she doesn't feel hungry at all. Still, she gets up and follows him out of the guest bedroom and back to the kitchen, all of her questions coming forward in her mind.

* * *

Mary ends up having two glasses of wine and a small nibble of the chicken that Matthew roasted. It's too cold to go up to the roof, so they sit on the couch and talk. Considering how she still might decide to break up with him depending on his answers, Matthew is remarkably calm and cheerful during their conversation.

He tells her about how they met, how he was her tutor and was supposed to help her with writing a term paper for a course in 19th century literature that she took in university. She can't help but laugh as he goes into great detail about how he was joking around with another tutor that his new student was probably someone who could barely write a proper sentence and had horrible grammar and she overheard him. He explains that they argued all the time, because she thought he was rather full of himself and he thought she was spoiled and didn't actually appreciate the literature she was studying.

Eventually, they warmed to each other when he realized she truly did have an interest in classical writers, and when he stopped being defensive and righteous, he could actually be quite charming. She cringes at his stories of how Aunt Rosamund looked down on him from the beginning, and how Mary's friends thought he was a boring middle class bookworm. He recounts how, after several weeks, he finally found the courage to ask her out on a proper date and she said yes. They went to see a performance of _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ and walked along the Thames and talked for hours well into the night. They were inseparable after that, spending each day together from that point on, until that fateful night in the East Village ten years ago.

"Why didn't you try and date again? Honestly, Matthew," she asks. "I can understand how hurt you would have been at first, but surely you didn't lack for opportunities over the past ten years. You couldn't have been thinking about me every waking moment over that time."

"Not every moment, no," he agrees. "There were times where I was on a deadline for the book or something else occupied all my time so I didn't have the chance to think about you. But I wasn't interested in dating. Elisabeth set me up dozens of times, but it was rather obvious early on that my heart wasn't into it, and the women she brought along could tell. And, you'd be surprised, but it's actually quite easy to avoid meeting women, even in Manhattan, when you don't do online dating and don't have a traditional job. I could have dated if I made an effort, but I never wanted to."

"So you would have remained alone for the rest of your life?" she asks.

"I don't know," he shakes his head. "Part of being too scared to go find you in London was that if I stayed here, then I could keep our memories. I could keep all that we shared pristine and untouched, only to become more gilded with time. I know it sounds cowardly, but our memories were worth more to me than trying to start something new with someone else."

As he answers her questions, Mary relaxes a bit more. Partly it's the relief of getting everything out that she's been holding in since she discovered that they had a history together. On top of that though, it's the quiet confidence that Matthew exudes as he tells her about their relationship. He can say that he loves her over and over until he's blue in the face. In the end, it's just words. But he's right. Their past is a part of them, whether she remembers it or not. And he's here with her. Whoever they were to each other before, they're together now, and she can invent all the paranoid excuses that she wants to, he still seems quite sure of himself and their future.

"Those years after I went back to London, they were so…strange," Mary admits. "I didn't have a life, not a real one anyway. I went shopping, attended the usual parties, spent time with the same people as before, but it felt so shallow and incomplete, as though I was standing in one spot and not moving in any particular direction. I thought it was just my mind slowly catching up with what happened, but it wasn't that. Something truly was missing, and not just the two years that I couldn't remember. I changed jobs, grew apart from my old friends and made new ones, but I couldn't shake this feeling that I'd lost something."

Matthew watches her closely.

"I'd felt that way before, of course, when I was younger," she nods. "I probably told you. It seemed as though my life was on a particular track and I didn't like it and couldn't changed it no matter what I did."

"I remember," Matthew says.

"This felt different though," she says, looking at him intently. "This felt more important than a career track or even what social circle I belonged to. I didn't feel…normal…until a few weeks ago."

Matthew smiles. He reaches out his hand.

Mary puts her hand in his and smiles back at him.

* * *

"Did you ever…think about me?" Mary asks him.

"After you left, you mean?" Matthew asks. "I told you that I did. All the time. Even when it hurt like hell to do so."

"No, that's not what I mean," she says, turning on to her side to face him. "Did you ever _think_ about me?"

Matthew looks at her, trying to decipher her meaning. He glances across the pale skin of her neck and shoulder revealed by his t-shirt that she wears to bed.

"You don't mean…" he begins.

"Yes, I do, actually," she blushes.

"You honestly want to know?" he asks nervously.

Mary nods.

"I…yes," he says quietly. "I would think about you rather often…at night."

"And what…what did you think about?" she asks, not meeting his eyes.

"Mary," he frowns.

"Tell me," she says firmly, looking over at him.

"Well, erm…you…you had a particular way of…erm…getting me…aroused…" Matthew says, clearing his throat.

"Really? Different from what I do now?" she asks.

"A bit different, yes," Matthew nods. "You used to…talk…to me…"

"Talk to you?" she says, then smirks as she contemplates his answer. "Talk to you about what? Current events? Politics? Sports?"

"No," he scolds her. "Nothing like that."

"Goodness, I was rather bold, was I?" she smiles.

"You don't need to remember what we…" he adds.

"Was I eager?" she interjects.

"What?" he asks, his eyes widening.

"Was I eager? Is that what you liked about the…the talking?" she teases.

"I…I suppose you could call your words quite…eager, yes," he says awkwardly.

"And you liked that? You liked hearing me…talk to you…about what I wanted you to do?" she asks mercilessly.

"Mary…" he warns.

"My, my, you must have loved that," she smiles.

"God, Mary, of course I did," he says wistfully. He then catches himself and recovers. "But that's all in the past, as we said before. You don't need to feel you have to measure up to anything that you…"

"What did I say?" she asks.

"What?" he cries out.

"What did I say? Give me an example," she asks.

"Darling, if I have to tell you what to say, that defeats the purpose of talking," Matthew rolls his eyes. "And I will point out that this conversation is having an entirely opposite effect to the talking from before as well."

Mary laughs. She shifts over until she's resting her chin on his chest, one hand stroking his stomach and her eyes looking up at him.

"Perhaps if you talked to me, then that would inspire me to…talk to you in return," she says sultrily. "If you want to, that is."

Matthew swallows. "I want to…if you want to…"

"Mmm," she smiles, moving closer to his face. She licks his cheek playfully, then brings her lips to his ear. She feels his hands move across her hips and over her bottom.

"Remind me, Matthew," Mary breathes against his ear as her hand moves down his body.

**fin**


End file.
